


In the Dark Corner, In the Deepest Hallway

by 8cheshirekat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Falling In Love, Possible Doppleganger, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8cheshirekat/pseuds/8cheshirekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows threats are around every corner, but when a stranger leaves an even stranger message, he wonders if that was a threat or a warning.</p><p>Until Irene and Molly show him something strange....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Woman In White

**Author's Note:**

> YES.... i realize this is.... silly ha ha. THE IDEA WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE.... since i saw the Irene stuff.... anyways, i am a firm supporter of Johnlock, but i thought i'd try something first before then heh....

"I _can't_ sit down!"

"Yes, I realize that. But please calm down." John set down the tea cup. He paused and watched Sherlock pace one more circle. "Sit down! I'm sure they'll have something for you soon!"

As if on cue, the bell rang for the door.

Mrs. Hudson answered and the silence that fell upon the flat as they waited.

"Sherlock, you've got quite the lovely guest this afternoon!" Mrs. Hudson looked like she was glowing with such a swell of pride.

A woman ascended the stairs behind Mrs. Hudson. She had a sweeping trench coat that was pure, untaintedly white. There were royal blue stitching with an intricate flourish on the collar. She wore a matching scarf with royal blue snowflakes. she had on a pair of black gloves and her trousers were black. Her feet bore a pair of white dress shoes.

As she looked up, her eyes locked with John's for a fleeting moment before she shot a glance into Sherlock's eyes.

Turning away, she looked up at the ceiling. She wasn't speaking, but she left her gloves on as she reached out, still looking up, and touched the door to the flat.

Mrs. Hudson walked away, still smiling brightly.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked. He was examining her and realized he couldn't see beyond her ginger hair and sparkling, brilliant, but dark sapphire eyes.

"I was hoping you could help me with something." She swung the door ever so slightly. "Mr. Watson, well, no, Dr. Watson, please stop staring at my collar. I realize it looks strange, but I'm not him." She slowly turned around and looked at Sherlock again, her eyes staring right into his before he began examining her again. "You won't find it that way."

"What do you want?" He looked her in the eye again and he realized what he needed was literally staring back at him.

John sighed and got up. "What is it? Did you want our help?"

She sighed and turned around. "Be sure that you have your telephone ready because you're about to be called to help me. But I was still coming to see if you could help me." She turned and started down the stairs. "Oh, if you're wondering, you'll be hearing from T. Brown soon. Don't be alarmed, just go with it."

The door slammed behind her.

There was a pause before John opened his mouth before the phone went off.

\---

"Glad you could make it...." Greg made a face and sighed, running a hand back and forth through his hair. "It's not going to make sense, but I'm happy you're here."

The duo walked into the room that was well lit with standing lights. The windows were still closed and the curtains drawn. There was a woman on a chair, her head rolled back, her eyes wide and her mouth taped shut. At her feet was a man.

He was bound and gagged and his eyes were closed.

Sherlock looked confused and began to look around before he noticed that someone had been through with a thorough hand. Whomever it was was meticulous and very well educated in how to keep a crime scene. He took notice of the only proof of their presence.

There was a single hand print. It was on a small splash of water from a glass that was knocked over.

"Who was here?"

"Look here." Greg pointed at the closed bathroom door. "We had to shut the door to keep the other crime scene in tact."

Sherlock slowly opened the door.

The bathroom was upturned and there was a clear sign of a struggle. There was spilled soap and shampoo and toothpaste splatters. It was clear that it was a woman, about John's height, fighting with someone much lager before she was either incapacitated or knocked out. She wasn't dragged out, meaning she was probably carried.

The more he examined it, the more he saw the signs.

She had put up a good fight and there was small, light mists of blood either from her or her attacker on the back of the shower stall.

"Sherlock."

He snapped out of it and turned around. "Yes, what is it?"

John pointed. "What's all that?"

Sherlock slowly closed the door behind him, still looking at John. "Just a scuffle. Who was here before me?"

Greg sighed and ran a hand over his face. "You know, we don't always come to you. Some of them seem.... well, beneath you." He leaned on the door frame. "We call on our paid expert. He seems to like sending either one or two of his friends to do the work and he reports back to us in e-mail. It's all the tedious stuff you bloody won't do."

"Who?"

"Tyler Brown." Greg sighed and ran his hand over his face again. "Drives me mad sometimes. You might like him. He was originally from Boston and moved here a few years back." He gestured. "He seems to like doing these kinds of crimes. Checking out the breaking and entering and then the beatings of the residence. Sometimes, he saves lives and some times he saves innocent from being sentenced to death or imprisonment."

Sherlock sighed and looked around. "Then I suppose I should work on what's here. She seems to be in capable hands."

"How'd you know one of Tyler's girls was taken?"

"The signs. Who are these two?"

But as he was starting to get the information, he heard a voice in his head whispering that T. Brown might be Tyler Brown. But then who was the woman who came to see him? Because her height matched the assumed height of the woman who struggled in the bathroom. But who was it who was taken?

And why...?


	2. Visits to a Hospital Bedside

She was sitting across from him, in a brightly lit hospital room. He had his elbows propped up on her bed, at the foot. He placed his hands together and gently pressed them to his lips.

She was completely readable.

"So, how long?"

"Long enough. Depending on what you're referring to, Holmes."

He narrowed his eyes. "You may be surprised to know that I notice everything."

"Not really. I'm just not one for lots of chatter. What do you want?"

"Who attacked you?"

"A suspect."

"You won't answer me, will you?"

"I just did." She gently folded her hands on her lap. "Brown told me not to give you full answers. You'll find them in my subconscious movements."

He raised an eyebrow. "Will I get to meet this Brown person?"

"Eventually. Everyone meets Brown. It's just a matter of when is Brown ready to meet you?"

Sherlock slowly sat back, his hands coming to rest on the smooth, highly polished handles of the seat. The itchy cushion was blocked by his sharp suite. He narrowed his eyes a fraction before he examined her.

The bruises on her arms were inconsistent with the crime scene's scuffle. She looked like she hadn't groomed her eyebrows in a few weeks. Her eyes had a bit of dark shadows underneath. She had chapped lips. Her hair was pulled back and was loosely held up. Her eyes kept staring right at him with an almost sunken look, like someone on their death beds.

"Anything else?"

He was about to answer when the door was thrown open. Greg came in and threw a file on the foot of her bed. He ignored Sherlock as he spoke. "What the bloody devil is this?!"

"The file."

"In Brown's handwriting! Why is he touching this?! You told me he was keeping his distance from our cases!"

She sighed, her eyes closed and her head rolled forward. "I told you. Brown will help when Brown thinks it's necessary. If you don't want Brown to help, then I'll tell them to stop."

Greg covered his face. "I told you and I'm telling you the bloody hell again. Either I meet Brown or Brown stops interfering with my work!"

Sherlock's eyes were suddenly fixed on the girl. "What's your name? And please don't lie to me."

Her head slowly came up and her eyes were fixed on Sherlock. "I am Melissa Conan Doyle. I live in London. Won't tell you where I live. I live with my roommate, Brown. I'm a medical doctor from the military."

He eyed Melissa when he heard a soft ding.

Melissa held a finger up to Greg and reached over, pulling her phone off the table. "You know how Brown gets when I don't answer." She checked the message and then quickly replied. A few moments later, it dinged again. "Here."

She set her phone on top of the file so both of them could see.

"This is why I have a strong bond with Brown. Brown knows exactly where to find me at all times so I don't feel unsafe."

It was an image of the back of Greg from just a moment ago, when Melissa was reaching for her phone.

"Brown isn't there, but Brown knows how to keep me safe." She sat back. "Now, if you're done yelling, Greg Lestrade, Sherlock wasn't done interviewing me."

He looked up at her and realized she was looking right at him with a very dark look. Sherlock realized that she knew that he had realized it hadn't been her in the room that had been taken.

Greg looked at her and then at Sherlock.

She changed her face just a tad to tell him that she understood that he was confused before she reached behind her, under the pillow. "Not to be dramatic, but Lestrade knows and I think it's time for me to be going."

She unplugged the heart monitor. Slowly, she pulled out the needle for her IV. She put just enough pressure to staunch the bleeding. She swung her feet over the end of the bed, her trousers still on. Her bare feet slid into her shoes as she slid off the bed. She hunched her shoulders and the gown fell to the floor.

With a sweep of her arm, she pulled on her blazer before pulling on her coat. She went sweeping passed Sherlock, her hand brushing along his jaw line before she blew a kiss to Lestrade. "Ta ta. Things to do, stuff to solve, people to save."

Sherlock watched as she walked out and was greeted by a familiar flurry of white as another woman came to stand by Melissa. She was facing the room and her eyes met Sherlock's before she turned and put her arm around Melissa's shoulders, guiding her away.

"Who's that?"

Greg shrugged. "She always shows up. We're not sure who she is, but she goes by the alias Jane Brown."

"Alias?" Sherlock asked, standing.

"We looked up Jane Brown. That name belongs to Tyler Brown's sister. But they were adopted and the last photo of Tyler is a passport photo from nearly fifteen years ago. Tyler and Jane both had short hair at that time. However, Jane still exists and lives in the US."

"So, that's not Jane?"

"No. But you can call her that."

\---

"They're going to figure it out."

"Nope."

"But what about--?"

"He'll come knocking. You did well."

"And--?"

"Yes."

Melissa put her face in her hands. "Oh, for god's sake, tell me I didn't just put you in the firing squad's way."

She smiled softly and turned around. "No. You put me right in his way. If I'm correct, he will come a knocking. For now, we will have to play the game."

"If that makes sense."

"Don't make me strike you again."

She smiled and slowly stepped off her computer chair, letting it spin around in her wake.

"What were you doing up there, anyway?!"

"Seeing how it works." She watched it slowly stop. She sat in the chair again. "Push me."

There was silence.

She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Please. Push me, please."

Melissa got to her feet and reached out a hand. She lifted her arm and Melissa grabbed it and pushed.

She managed to stay on before she narrowly avoided hitting her head on the corner of the white coffee table. She lay there a moment, looking at the table from the floor. She shot up. "THAT is much better!"

"So, we know how they were killed?"

"Yes. The burglar tried to push them out of the chair. The only question is, why did he _not_ take her gems...." Melissa strummed her fingers on the desk. "Took only his things."

"He is him." She pointed to one of the suspects. "I think he loved her too much and was mad that her husband was keeping them apart. So, he broke in and stole his stuff because he wanted her."

Melissa noticed that she was doing her finger tick.

It started with her thumb. It flexed twice before touching her side once. It continued for a few more moments before her pinkie joined in.

Melissa cleared her throat and her roommate turned around. "You could stop doing that one of these days."

"You know I can't." She looked at her hands before she shook them free. "How's the pin hole?"

Melissa rubbed her arm. "He's going to be coming for you."

She suddenly looked darkly at the curtain windows. "Let Moriarty come. I'm not afraid of the big, bad wolf."


	3. Jane or Tyler Brown

She was standing by the door when she noticed him.

Sherlock looked to the side. "I know you're there."

"Not even going to ask how I got in?"

"Do I need to?" He looked forward again. He gently pressed his hands together and let the tips touch his lips, like he always did when he was thinking.

"Are you stumped?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Perhaps you want to help."

"I can't help." She stayed by the door. "I came to you as a client, would you like to know what I need you to find?"

He closed his eyes and whipped around. "Who are you?"

"A person. If you want to know, why don't you keep looking." She was looking him right in the eye and she quirked a smile. "You and your brother haven't gotten along, have you?"

Sherlock's jaw slacked.

John looked like he was about to drop the cup of tea in his hands. "Did you.... can you read him?"

She looked right at John. "Not as well as I can read you. How's the shoulder?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are you one of those OCPD people?"

"Is that all you read? I know you tried to read me before."

"You tell me."

"I have a sever form of OCPD and a minor form of a savant. I can see clearly when I look at people's eyes because I've learned that eyes are truly the window into another person's soul." She opened her arms a bit. "Look closely and you'll find my name."

Sherlock was starting to look at her cloths and the way she moved and what she was wearing.

"Say it aloud. I want to hear how close you get."

He took a deep breath. "You're hair is neatly pulled back and all the strays are tucked in, which means that you don't like strays. You wear make up, not heavy at hand, but I think it suggests that you're hiding something darker. Your coat is meticulously clean, which suggests that you have obsessive compulsive disorder. Your finger nails are slightly worn, suggesting you played a string instrument. Judging by the way you hold yourself, I assume it's a cello."

"Is that all?"

Sherlock looked her in the eye. "That's all I can read. What am I missing?"

She slowly lowered her hands. "That last bit." She smiled kindly before her hands came to rest at her sides. "My turn."

Sherlock slowly sat back. "Tell me what you see."

She narrowed her eyes. They widened as she began to speak. "You and your older brother don't get along, haven't since you were small. You've got a keen eye for things that people don't see. You and Mrs. Hudson drink a spot of tea every afternoon before Watson comes home. You brush your teeth with your left hand, but use your right for everything else. Two sugars in your tea. Spearmint gum if you choose to chew gum. You thrive on things to do, after all, you are a high-functioning sociopath." She gave John a quick smile before she went back to the door. Her hand touched the door frame. "I'm sorry, but until you're willing to take my case, I will be in touch."

\---

"So, you're _not_ going to look into her? Not even a bit?"

"John, I won't. It's nothing."

"Sherlock, she just went blow for blow with you. I've only seen that with Moriarty."

"I know." He slowly took the cup from John's hands. "I'm happy to take her case, but first things first, we need to find out what this one wants."

The door was opened and a few moments later, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs. "You have another friend."

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella as he smiled at Sherlock. "Did you meet her? The stranger?"

Sherlock slowly got to his feet. "What?"

"She came to me a few days ago. She asked me to find out what she wanted."

"White coat?"

"No. She was wearing a heavy black coat." Mycroft made a face. "Ginger, blue eyes, same height as John."

"Yes. She wears her hair back, has a funny accent."

John ran a hand over his face. "Say something that normal people would understand!"

Mycroft smiled and then quietly sighed. "This woman doesn't leave fingerprints. She doesn't disclose her name. She does leave a very cryptic message that it takes too long to figure out. She keeps asking questions and only answers when you judge her."

Sherlock made a face again. "I just don't get her. There's something.... _something_ that I should see, but I'm not seeing it."

"Did she ask you to find her sister?"

"No, she asked me for her name."

Mycroft was in shock for a moment before he slowly stood up right. "Well, perhaps we should arrange for both of us to meet her."

Sherlock slowly walked forward and gave Mycroft a smirk. "Then perhaps you should let me take the lead. I might be able to break her down a bit."

Mycroft swung his umbrella up and then down. "You have no idea. Maybe I will be the one to break her down."

Sherlock's eyes suddenly widened. "John.... John!" He grabbed his friend and held him at arms length away. "JOHN!"

"What?!" John yelled back. "What's wrong?! And stop yelling at me."

"I know her name and what she wants...."


End file.
